A Different Sort of Lullaby
by BirdieInATree
Summary: Young America and Canada can't sleep for different reasons. But that's why they were raised by different people. Parental England/Arthur and France/Francis.  Oneshot  Human names used.


This is simply an attempt at a cute story with little America and Canada. Human names used.

I don't own Hetalia.

EDIT: Thank you KitakLaw for helping me fix my fail translation!

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><p>Arthur Kirkland, the personification of England, was quite content to hole up for the night rereading a good book while a storm passed over. He'd picked out an old favorite, the Canterbury Tales, and was half-reading it and half dozing, lulled by the rain outside.<p>

"Arthur!" He snapped awake at the sound of his bedroom door being slammed open, promptly followed by a small child launching himself at the dazed country.

He just sort of sat there for a moment, eyes wide, trying to process what had just happened.

"Alfred? What's wrong?" He asked the young colony, who was currently trying to burrow into his chest.

After some sniffling and light sobs, the young America responded, "I had a nightmare…" He sobbed once, clutching Arthur's nightshirt tighter, "I was so scared!"

Arthur smiled, not out of amusement, but of understanding. "It's all right. Nothing can hurt you." He murmured kind words to the child, rubbing his back soothingly as he cried. After the cries subsided, he sat Alfred up to face him, looking into red, puffy eyes. "Listen, can you tell me what happened in the dream?"

Alfred sputtered for a minute, "There were skeletons…and a big housecat…"

The older nation wiped off the boy's tearstained face with his sleeve, "See? Can you remember what was so scary about that nightmare in the first place?"

"No…not really… I just…didn't know what to do. What am I supposed to do if you aren't there?"

This startled Arthur a bit, but he tried to hide it, "I'm here now, aren't I? You don't have to worry about that." _Hopefully not for a long time._

"I-I guess not." Alfred looked down for a couple of moments, "Umm…Can I stay in here tonight?"

Of course the child would still be scared, even if the colony himself didn't know why. "Sure." Arthur answered, moving over a bit and placing his book on the nightstand.

"Thanks…"

After the child had begun to settle next to his chest, Arthur started to blow out the candle, but was stopped.

"Arthur, can you please tell me a story?"

He knew the response already, "What kind of story?"

"Umm…I don't know." That was expected as well.

"How about _Rumpelstiltskin_?"

"Aha, that's a funny word."

"_Rumpelstiltskin _it is then." Arthur responded, and launched into the familiar tale.

Of course, the story was peppered with interruptions from the sleepy, and growing sleepier, Alfred. The most amusing to Arthur was probably the insistence that Rumpelstiltskin should have stopped yelling his name if he didn't want people to know it, and that the queen was lucky she didn't have to spell his name, but only say it.

He fell asleep right before it ended, but knew the words Arthur would say as well as Arthur had predicted he would ask for a story.

"And they lived happily ever after."

Months earlier, Arthur had asked how such a young child could know that that would be the ending to every story, and Alfred had responded without hesitation:

"_Because that's how all stories should end."_

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><p>The North American brothers have impeccable and highly coincidental timing, for in France's house a similar, yet entirely different at the same time, situation had arisen.<p>

Everyone's favorite Country of Romance, also known as France and to those closest to him, Francis, was comfortably sprawled on his bed, mostly asleep.

His own colony, however, was not.

Mathieu had made his way to his 'Papa's' room in an interesting fashion. After emerging from his own bedroom, he had walked extremely slowly and sprinted in random intervals to reach his destination, constantly clutching his white stuffed bear. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be walking around at night, but he was absolutely sure he didn't want to be all alone for long.

You see, Mathieu was terrified of storms.

He finally peeked into Francis' room, but didn't go in just yet. What if he was being rude? What if his Papa laughed at him?

The nation that had been mostly asleep was now mostly awake, primarily because of the light streaming in from the hallway. He glanced up, spotting his little Canada standing in the doorway.

"Matheiu? Come here, _petit_." He said, sitting up with a small smile.

It was then that a bright flash of lightning lit up the room accompanied by a crash of thunder and Mathieu practically knocked him over in his mad dash to hide his face from the light in Francis' loose nightshirt, tossing his stuffed bear aside in the process.

"Papa…I don't like the storms…" The child had such a quiet voice.

"I can see that, Mathieu." Francis said, wrapping an arm around the boy. He was only half crying, most of his being devoted to grabbing a blanket and diving under it. The nation sat there, a hand on the child's head through the blanket. _"Tu sais,_ there's nothing to be afraid of."

"_Je sais,_ Papa, _mais…_"

Without responding or letting Mathieu stutter out a response, Francis gathered up the child and the blanket covering him, holding him to his chest. Murmuring some comforting words in French, he leaned back against the headboard, making sure Mathieu's eyes were covered and he at least couldn't see the lightning.

For, you see, Francis had a plan, and this time his plan was intelligent enough to be complimented in passing from England. Well, perhaps not, but it could very well accomplish something.

Barely an hour later was the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, and the storm had let up a little. Mathieu hadn't fallen asleep, but had calmed considerably and had since emerged slightly from the blanket. Francis was thankful that the storm hadn't hit until the middle of the night so his colony's schedule (and, by extension, his own) wouldn't be messed up too badly.

Francis gently shook the child, getting his attention.

"What is it, Papa?"

"You'll see." Francis answered; unwrapping his colony from the blanket and standing up.

"Wait…" He almost missed Mathieu's protest as they walked out.

Francis stopped, and then he saw what Mathieu was gesturing to, "Ah, you won't want your bear right now…" He picked up the toy anyway, which the child gratefully hugged.

He saw Mathieu's eyes cloud in confusion as they made their way down the stairs of the large house, stopping in front of the door that lead to one of the gardens.

"Here, we'll just leave your bear on the chair here, _bien_?" Mathieu nodded hesitantly, relinquishing his hold on the bear.

"Umm…Papa…?"

Francis walked outside, ignoring the colony, whose eyes widened considerably and now struggled a bit in his arms. This was remedied as he was placed barefoot on the wet grass, looking up at the sky.

"_Pourquoi…_?" Canada was at a complete loss on what to do, the only thing nagging at his mind was the possibility of dashing inside. He stared up at the nation, both of them getting more soaked by the second.

"The rain is not a bad thing, _ma petite colonie_." He explained. Thunder sounded in the distance, making Mathieu flinch, "And the thunder cannot hurt you either."

Mathieu looked thoroughly puzzled at this, considering it was a concept he hadn't thought of yet. His fear was irrational, though a child wouldn't know that. That's precisely why Francis had taught him like this. He knew things, sometimes, although this moment could easily be considered luck.

He smiled, "_Oui…_It feels kind of… nice, actually."

Francis promptly pushed him into a mud puddle, and was answered with a colony running at him with a handful of mud. The child tripped and feel, and when Francis went to check on the (laughing, he was definitely laughing) boy, he managed to lose his balance as well, ending up half falling into the mud himself.

After a bath and a change of clothes, the rain had stopped. An old servant in the house had recommended eating breakfast on the front porch, sharing a familiar smile with France. It had been a while since the nation had really relaxed, and even his outings with Prussia and Spain had become less frequent.

Mathieu looked at the garden in front of the house, "It smells nice."

Francis nodded, "It does, _ma petite colonie._ It's beautiful as well." He saw him nod in agreement, focusing on the drying flowers that actually glistened in the right light. He sighed, "Can you imagine that only a few hours ago you were terrified of something that could cause this?"

Mathieu smiled, "_Non, _Papa, I can't."

The first thing he would do was get someone to help him write a letter to Alfred so he could tell him, and remind him that France is nicer than England says.

Alfred got to him first, though, with a new fairytale and something about England being nicer than France says.

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><p>AN: I have a feeling the France was probably a lot more casual with Canada, hence him being called "Papa" while America calls England "Arthur". Headcanon, not actual canon, so...yeah. Used a translator for the French, and I think it's fairly easy to tell what they're saying, but if anyone's confused, let me know and I'll add a reference here. Please tell me if something doesn't make sense and/or I messesd up the translation!

Also, I did research on the fairytale England tells, and it had a different name in England at one point, but was compiled and recorded by the name in 1854 (not exactly sure about the date) long after this would have taken place. Concerning America's dream, looking back and discussing with friends, I've noticed that some nightmares are really only scary while we're dreaming, but it can get pretty freaky when you wake up.

No, it isn't supposed to reference anything in particular in history, I've just been awake since 3 AM (It's 6 PM now...) and wanted to write cuteness. Perhaps one could see it as England and France's influence on their respective charges.


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